


Fabricate

by solaarii



Series: deconstructing a monster [1]
Category: Yandere Simulator (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate - Character Names, Character Study, Childhood Memories, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 00:02:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14779791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solaarii/pseuds/solaarii
Summary: In elementary school, we made paper mâché masks. In elementary school, I made a mask of my own.





	Fabricate

My parents were doting and overprotective. My parents were in love with each other. My parents wore masks of their own.

Mom always laughed and smiled - wearing the perfect disguise of an exemplary housewife. Her hair was always tied back to avoid any accidents in the kitchen, an apron was always on even when she wasn't making a meal, and she wore clothes that were modest and easy to move around in. With her long black hair and ever willing nature to do household chores, she gained the nickname "Yamato Nadeshiko of Akademi"; a title that suited her perfectly. Our neighbors always came over just to have tea in the middle of the afternoon and happily spoke about mundane neighborhood gossip.

Typically, the wife of our neighbor couple always complimented how close my parents were and how well-behaved I was. My parents sat close to each other; mom's hand on dad's thigh and dad not knowing where to put his hands so he frames his coffee mug with caution. All I did was sit quietly next to my dad and eat the cookies they brought over. Sometimes I'd chime in about how I was doing or how delicious the treats were (they were bland, store bought, and nearing the expiration date). Then they'd ask if I liked the new town, if I was getting along with the neighborhood kids, if I had any hobbies, etc. During those times, I bobbed my head with lips tight in a line and continued nibbling a biscuit. My dad would suppress a sigh and I felt a heavy weight anchor over me as my mom laughed it off.

* * *

 

I hated being the center of attention. I hated it when all eyes were on me - like they expected something amazing to happen. And when it doesn't they turn their backs and sneer and forget I ever existed. And if they chose to remember, then they'd gift me with marker scribbles all over my desk and trash in my shoes.

I didn't care, though, but it became suffocating. My old classmates would chant about how I was a brick wall or air, and wave their hands in my personal space, acting like I wasn't there. I needed my space, but here they were, ruining it.

When it got to the point that the teacher found out, she called my parents. It was a chilly spring day, from what I recall, and I was sitting at the dinner table. I dragged a piece of fish around on my plate, a bit of rice eaten from my bowl, and my feet hanging in the air. As always there was one sided chatter coming from my mom and then the phone in the hallway rung. Mom got up with a polite pardon, and her footsteps were so light it was like she was floating. A ghost haunting every corner of this hold and trapping my dad and I in its ghastly realm. There was a beat of silence and then, there was nothing but a cacophony of words I didn't understand and threats that would've made me cry if I could feel the power behind them.

Then came the chaos,

I don't remember what came first: my dad's fearful arms around my mother's waist, or her sudden leap to the knife drawer in the kitchen. The sound of fumbling and rattling in the kitchen was a cue for me to leave and shelter myself in my room as my mom howled at my dad for the mistreatment, the disrespect, the vandalism of their symbol of love. Symbol of love, not child.

* * *

 

"She's still shy," she'd excuse, causing our neighbors to laugh along with her like it explained everything wrong with me. I'd watch her nudge my dad and he'd jolt right up, with a hand on the back of his neck and a nervous chuckle leaving skewed lips. Mom would change the subject about how the cabbage she bought from so and so was fresher than this and that and the conversation would turn away from me completely.

I watched my dad with intense interest and for the first time, I felt sad and my appetite went away. The blandness of the biscuit dried on my tongue, and with great force, I shoved it in my mouth. The uneasiness that invaded my insides came from the brief grimace of my dad's face and the frigid smile on my mom's red ruby lips.

Was there something wrong with me?

* * *

 

My dad is a year older than my mom, but, he looks much, much older than that. There were gray hairs peeking out from his black ones, dark circles under his eyes, and lines that crinkled when he tried to smile something off. When he was home, his posture was always stiff and whenever mom's back was turned, he looked like he was exhausted.

There were times he took me out into town - with mom's permission, of course - and he'd be more relaxed, excited. He'd loosen up and the weight that I usually felt around him dispersed almost immediately. I liked my dad like this. He looked younger and better and more awake. Warmer. Part of me thought it was because he enjoyed spending time with me but the other part knew it was because he was away from my mom.

I never pried for an answer, though, as the way he held my hand gave me some reassurance that there was room in his heart for me. He never said more than needed at him and there was always that fatigue that haunted him like a restless spirit. Maybe that's how he was; maybe that's how he'll always be. But that isn't what my mom always reminisced when talking about their "lovey dovey" past.

She'd gush about his wonderful smile; his strong posture; how he always stood so comfortably like he owned the world. I knew she was talking about dad, but from the torn look on his face from over her shoulder, I was certain that she immortalized his past ghost rather than this present hollowness of a man.

I'm not sure what mom did to him, but at some point in my childhood, I knew I had to do something for my dad. I just didn't know what.

* * *

 

When school finally began, my dad stayed later in the house than usual. He packed my bag, checked it three times, and patted me on the head. Breakfast was getting cleaned off the table by mom and I could hear the water running with dishes clanking together. Closely, my dad reassured me that he'll pick me up to "give mom a break".

I just nodded along because, well, it looked like it made him happy. And if dad was happy, then mom was happy. Or, as happy as those two showed themselves to be. It was the closest way to compensating my dad's grief...is what I believed. Not in those exact words, but it was something - it was more than what my mom ever did for him.

He walked me to the corner at the block where a group of similar aged students stood in a sort of pack. With a tug at his tie and a nervous sideways glance to ensure I was by his side, he greeted the chaperoning parents. His hand met the back of his neck, and he bowed in short and polite successions. While he made small talk - something something on the way to work anyway something something thank you - I scanned the crowd of fidgeting and grinning kids that were going to be my classmates.

They were bright and full of energy; brimming with colors that blinded me and made me dizzy. I briefly grasped my dad's hand, unable to handle these glares of these iridescent kids, and snapped out of my disorientation at the chorus of sympathetic coos from the other parents.

"Is this her first day?" a large man with a grin so wide and toothy that it hurt to stare at and so, I lowered my head. My dad chuckled too nervous for my liking, and I buried my face into his leg. "Don't worry too much, kiddo, you'll make plenty of friends in no time! Oi, Midori, come on and greet the new kid."

Bouncing from the center with hair as green as emeralds and eyes that glittered just as dazzling was a girl just around her height. Her sun kissed skin clashed with my pasty white hands, and I winced at the immediate physical contact. She radiated a warmth very foreign to my world and my discomfort skyrocketed.

"My name's Taniguchi Midori! I've been here since FOREVER! I have a blue roof and a green yard and red flowers! There's also a bird feeder by my window so birds like to sing a lot outside and I named them too! Did you know that birds can be different colors? They can be! My favorite ones are red because they look like superheroes! Anyway, what's yours?"

My head swirled with the onslaught of information and I blanked. My dad nervously chuckled and the big man behind Midori bellowed a hearty laugh. Again, I winced. "Aye, Midori, you gotta slow down! If you don't, you might scare her!" It sounded like she was in trouble, and when the man rose his head, I prepared myself for the strike. But, it never came. Instead, he was patting her head, messing up her hair with an alien affection that I'd only seen on tv.

"Okay dad!" Midori acknowledged, raising a hand and getting some sort of palm contact in return. Oh, I know those: they were high-fives. Was that normal between parent and child? I warily side eyed my dad and all he did was smile back. Midori returned to me, attention hyper focused and analyzing every inch of my being. Anxiety resumed its residence in every vein and I wanted to leave this encounter as fast as I could.

But, after seeing Midori and her dad...maybe it wouldn't be so bad to watch what she does. For some reason, her dad was happy with her. She didn't do anything special, and yet, they were both laughing. Maybe, just maybe, this Midori would be the key to making my dad genuinely love me.

"A... Aishi Ayano," I finally mustered and gears were turning in Midori's head.

"Ayako already has Aya-chan and Nozomi already has Nono-chan so..." I watched with some fascination at her methodical mumbling and she suddenly clapped her hands and grabbed mine, "How about Yan-chan?"

"Eh... Midori-chan, that's not..." my dad seemed ready to argue, but was stopped by the other man's ever present bellow. Did he ever stop?

"Aishi, don't worry so much! Ayano-chan is pleased as a peach! Ain't ya?"

I felt pressured and so I nodded and tried for a smile. "Th...ank you, Miichan..." My cheeks felt sore and ached and the muscles felt so strained, but I preserved.

All three of them quieted and something erupted - Midori squealed and jumped; her dad clapped his hands and relinquished another bellow; and my dad? My dad cracked a smile that rejuvenated his existence. Was this it? Was this the first step to earning my dad's love and forgiveness?

* * *

 

After the first step, the second was still difficult but not as painful. My new class was a lot nicer than my last one and it looked like everyone was friends with each other. Midori dragged me around the classroom before the teacher came and introduced me to everyone. Many of them were polite. Some of them pounced at the sight of a new person. Others just gave a nod of acknowledgement and returned to talking about some late night anime. All the while, Midori told me everything about anything.

She told me her favorite color (green, unsurprisingly), her favorite food (omurice), her favorite time of day (3PM), her favorite activity (writing emails to her mom), her favorite etc. I knew more about her than I did myself. The more I listened, the more I felt...disconnected. At the time, I didn't know what to call it as a child, but having to process how many favorite things Midori had made me realize how little I existed.

She even had a favorite patch of grass she liked to sit in when her family invited me to a picnic. "It gets the perfect amount of sunlight, breeze, and feels fluffier than other patches of grass!" she told me with so much confidence I was almost convinced it had to be true. Though, when I was by myself, I tried testing it and was disappointed with how little difference there was between this specific patch to the one beside it.

Firmly, I wanted to believe it was a 'Midori Thing' but, I learned soon enough it wasn't. Everyone had a 'favorite'.

The second 'friend' I made - really, it was Midori who was making friends, I was just an accessory - was a quiet girl named Himi Kuu, or Kuucchi...as declared by Midori. She was always off reading books, but politely closed one whenever Midori babbled on and on about what country her mom was in. I'm still unsure on what Taniguchi-san did for a living, but the last I heard was that she was building houses in Ethiopia. Kuu was a good listener and it was comfortable sitting besides someone who didn't need to fill in the silence. Even Kuu had a favorite: favorite hobby (reading), favorite second hobby (gaming), favorite spot (in the shade), favorite book genre (fairy tales), favorite word (adventure), favorite etc.

Though, Midori's incessant chatting helped in giving me an idea. I just didn't have a word for it yet.

* * *

 

"Ne, Yan-chan, can you help me with my smock?" Midori asked, once more, before arts and craft. I wordlessly did what was needed with slipping on one sleeve over one arm and the other sleeve onto the other. Midori beamed like this was the first time it ever happened and once more, I felt hollowed. "Yan-chan is gonna make the bestest wife!"

I cracked an awkward smile and wondered if she talked to my mom and picked up on that 'love talk and soulmate' story she loved repeating by the day. Kuu seemed to pick up the tone and spun Midori away into some book talk about a fairy tale with three little pigs. Midori went off on how each of us could be like those pigs and called being the one who made their house out of hay. Kuu got sticks. And I was left with bricks. I didn't understand the reasoning back then, and even now, I still don't.

Was it because I was strong? Or was it because I was the one who planned the wolf’s death?

Midori explained it but there was so much buzzing in the classroom that the sound muted itself in my memories. It must not have been important, but some part of me has this naive belief that maybe Midori's childish musings could explain why I felt so empty inside.

The teacher finally gathered the class for a demonstration - papier mâché masks. All of us huddled on the floor with the desks pushed to form a circle. Teacher then pulled out a bag of new balloons, a stack of newspapers, a bag of flour, several plastic bowls, and wooden sticks. She told us that these will be our art projects for the week and that we can make up to two masks if we want.

A lot of my classmates waved their hands asking: if they could make more than two; if they're allowed to take them home; if they can wear them afterwards; if they could color them; if...if...if etc... Midori practically vibrated between Kuu and I as she shook her tiny fists in excitement of the project.

Teacher finally finished her demonstration and gave all of us equal distribution of the materials. Midori blabbed about how she wanted to make Super Sentai masks for all of the members while Kuu was thoughtfully mixing the water and flour into paste for all of us. Apparently Super Sentai was a tv thing and they did a bunch of weird poses that Midori enjoyed reenacting. The boys in the class all yelled that they were going to do Super Sentai and some childish form of hell broke loose. The girls wanted to do cute animals or whatever pop idol they were into, and I was left watching the chaos with growing disinterest.

"Whatcha gonna make, Yan-chan?"

I stared at the balloon on my desk as I pasted strips of newspaper on its surface and pondered for a moment. Nothing came to mind but my frowning reflection on the inflated surface and I looked up at Midori's expression of anticipation. No matter what I say, she'll take it in stride, or so I believed.

The first thing that came to mind aside from nothing (because I was certain that if I said "no idea" then Midori would bombard me with more suggestions than I could digest) was our talk about the three little pigs. I didn't want to make a mask into a pig...so my only other option was the antagonist. The villain. The big bad who lost everything because he was so desperate to satisfy his hunger and didn't believe there was another way:

"...Maybe a wolf?"

Midori gasped in awe and said how cool that was and that she'll try making a sheep to match or maybe little red riding hood or maybe an old lady or-- I mentally cut her off, feeling overwhelmed at how she could take a single line of dialogue and pile on conversation. Was this how people who didn't feel empty lived?

I looked down at the balloon again and the sorry slip of gooey paper I left in the bowl.

Naively, I felt a kinship with the balloon and paper mâché mask in the making - it could be anything on the outside, but on the inside, it'll always be empty.

And with that conclusive thought in mind: I knew what I had to do to make my dad happy.

"Remember not to pop the balloon just yet! We need to wait for the paste to harden overnight and then I'll pop it for you and we can start painting the masks!" Teacher announced and everyone cheered.

 _No one needed the inside_ , I realized while covering up the balloon, _because the outside was the only thing that mattered._

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey i'm very rusty in writing fics, or writing in general nowadays, but i felt very inspired by the idea of a passive ayano who still retains the emptiness but none of the yandere. it's a trope i'm very invested in and wanted to try my hand at it as well as put in my twist in the idea!
> 
> i'm not sure how many parts this series will have but i'll probably add when the whims come and go.


End file.
